


Discourse

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [22]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Amputation, Angst, Body Horror, Body Modification, Dullahan - Freeform, Dullahan!Soldier, Faun!Scout, Garuda - Freeform, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prosthesis, Regret, Relationship Advice, Science, Secret Identity, garuda!Medic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pyro and Engineer have no idea what to do about their problems with one another, but they both know they need and love each other, but don’t know how to make sure things work.  They’re both afraid, they’re both unsure, and sometimes it takes an outsider’s perspective to make you realize you’re being a dumbass.  Luckily, the rest of the team is just nosy enough, and surprisingly good advice can be found from the people closest to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discourse

"Pyro? What are you doing here?" Soldier asked, striding into the rec room with a sandwich in hand.

The firebug was slumped across the couch, looking like he was melting into the thing, the TV on but muted with his blank, dark lenses fixed on a point just above the screen. He tilted his head back to look upside-down at his new companion, a sigh growling through his filters. "Engie's replacing his legs with robotic ones," Pyro muttered, loathing clear in his muffled voice.

"He is what? I didn't know he'd lost them!" the taller man barked, taking a seat in a chair nearby.

"He's doing what he did with the gunslinger. Cutting off a limb to make it 'better'. Like he's pruning a dying plant."

Soldier cocked his head to the side. "Are you okay, Pyro?"

"Not really, no. Everything is grey and square and dull."

That sounded bad.

"He's throwing away his warm soft legs for metal and plastic and there's nothing I can do to stop him."

Soldier frowned. "But he's Engie! Those legs will be strong and powerful and probably have rockets in them!"

"I never got to touch them." Pyro shifted, rolling on his side to face away from Soldier. "I never got to feel him."

"You don't take off your suit even with Engie." It wasn't a question. It was a well-known fact, but all the same, Soldier gave voice to it. "Why?"

"Because I would scare him."

"He's not afraid of anything."

"He's afraid of me, of what I mean. He just doesn't know it."

"He loves you, Pyro."

Pyro sighed again. "I'm afraid, too."

Soldier leaned forward, sitting his sandwich on the table beside him. "You're not human, are you?"

The suit on the couch tensed, the firebug inside going still. He knew some of the team had suspicions, but only Spy had ever been bold enough to ask until now. "You know?"

"I do now."

Ah, yeah, he did just walk into that, didn't he?

"I won't ask what, but you're scared because of the whole Scout thing, huh?"

"Not just that," Pyro explained, turning back to Soldier and sitting up. "It just...confirmed things. I never thought he'd accept it, but now I'm sure. And I love him, but I feel like I'm losing him because of it all."

"I understand."

"How?"

"I felt the same way keeping things secret from Tavish. Not our Tavish. RED Tavish," the taller mercenary explained, with a soft mutter of, "my Tavish."

"You two were a thing?" Pyro sat forward. Everyone had just thought they were friends. Jokes were made, but no one wanted to be the one to ask.

"We were best friends. And we were lovers. Until the War," Soldier sighed.

"But what does this have to do with--"

"Because he did not know about what I am, and I was convinced that if he did, he would hate me. So when I heard that robot imitation of him, what they said he said, I was ready to believe it. It was easier to end things that way than for him to learn what I am and do it on his terms."

Pyro took a moment to deconstruct and reconstruct the labyrinthine ramble that had spilled out of the sullen serviceman, Soldier's shoulders growing more slumped, his posture curled forward like he was ready to ball up and start bawling. "Soldier, what are you?"

A heavy breath left the mercenary. "I was always afraid of showing people. Merasmus always told me not to, and he knows lots of things. But Scout wasn't afraid. And Sniper wasn't afraid. I know I can't go to town like this, but, hell, the Doc's a chicken now, so it shouldn't matter! Fear is for hippies and communists!" He stood, lifting his hands to his head, one beneath his jaw, the other at the back of his skull, and began to pull.

Pyro leaned back, watching with clear eyes as a thin red seam began to form along the taller man's neck, the colour draining from his flesh as a grey hue seeped across his skin from that growing opening. A sound, wet and straining, accompanied the rapid expansion of the slash across Soldier's neck until it pulled apart with strands of thick ichor stretching between neck and head. With a final wrench, Soldier yanked his head free, the edges sealing off cleanly, revealing the empty, black abyss that was the inside of his neck. He walked over to the nearest open window, tipped the helmet off of his head, then tossed the useless head out into the field, wincing a bit when he heard a splash. Here's hoping that wasn't part of the drinking water supply.

"Soldier..."

The dullahan turned to face Pyro, as much as he could 'face' anything, and saluted, his hand stopping against the empty air where his forehead would be. "This is me! I am an undead monstrosity!" he announced, with almost an authoritative air.

"You're a dullahan," the firebug wondered, cocking his head to the side.

"I am."

"You didn't think the RED Demoman would accept you like this, as a monster," Pyro breathed.

"I did not. But I was weak to not even try. If I had, maybe neither of us would have let things get to that point. Maybe we would not have fought over something as stupid as words or easy to get as weapons. When you take a man out for whiskey and ribs, and fight him, and then fight the police with him, that's more important than those other things," Soldier explained, still standing. "But I did not. I didn't even try."

"You're saying I should tell him?"

"I'm saying he's already replaced a hand and two legs. It sounds like he's a lot more machine than man compared to what he used to be." The dullahan shrugged, then picked up his sandwich, remembering why he came in the room in the first place. He held the snack in front of him a moment, neck curving down as if supporting a head that hung heavy with the realization that he'd thrown away his method for eating. With a heavy, hollow breath that breezed in and out of his empty void, he offered the sandwich to Pyro, who looked at it hesitantly, bewildered.

"Soldier, when did you get so wise?"

"Wise? I am not wise! I am experienced! I am seasoned! And I am not going to let one of my men sit here moping like a little girl who lost her dolly just because of a couple of severed legs! We are mercenaries, Private! We do not have time for sadness, or fear, or hunger!" He waved the sandwich about a bit before thrusting it into his teammate's hands, then stormed out of the rec room, on a mission to go do something somewhere. Probably violent, probably loud, probably causing lots of property damage, as was his way.

Pyro stared at the doorway after Soldier left. For a man as unhinged as he was, he certainly made a terrifying amount of sense in his times of near-lucidity. Looking down at the sandwich, he wondered how exactly to do any of this. Maybe Spy would have some idea.

 

*

 

"How is the fit?" Medic asked, wiping his hands uselessly on a blood-soaked towel, unable to soak up any more of the brilliant red vitae that clung to every crease in the doctor's avian hands. A shudder ran through his wings, now allowed to droop more freely after being held still and out of his way during the procedure. Blood spattered their perfect white feathers, an annoying ordeal for later preening and cleaning.

Engineer stretched and pitched himself up into a seated position, letting his legs swing over the side of the gurney to hang. He kicked them slowly, letting himself adjust to the new weight attached at his upper thighs, anchored to complex connection points hidden within the seamless transition between living and artificial flesh. His legs were just as they'd looked before the operation: short, muscular, and covered in a layer of blond hair that ran thicker toward his shins then tapered away at the ankle, with a bit of sparse fuzz at the tops of his feet. A few rather iconic scars, injuries from battles past and childhood accidents, had been carefully recreated in the artificial skin that covered the false muscle, metal bones, and machinery that now made up the stocky limbs. He flexed his feet, wiggled his toes, and bent his knees. He concentrated and flexed the artificial muscle of his thighs and calves, feeling each move under his effort. It wasn't quite natural in method yet, but the sensory input he received from the nerve networks he'd built were exacting. He ran his flesh-and-blood hand over one knee and felt it perfectly. A crooked smile crawled across the Texan's lips as he shifted off of the gurney and stood for the first time on completely artificial legs. "Fits like a dream," he replied, pacing about a bit, turning and stretching and crouching and trying out any movement he could conceive in order to be sure of his work. It wasn't like he needed to. It was his work, after all.

The doctor laughed at the sight, half amused by the smaller man's gyrations, half by the fact that he hadn't bothered to cover up, making it appear the most awkward medically-themed burlesque show he'd ever witnessed. "I am glad to hear. I would think it strange that you would trade in a pair of perfectly-functioning, strong legs such as your own for mechanical ones, but I also understand how you prefer to field-test your advances yourself. You know I'm the same way," Medic reasoned, leaning back against a sink. "What should I do with the leftovers?"

"Best I don't know. I'm sure you got some sort of nefarious experiments or ideas you could use 'em for. Worst comes to worse, throw 'em in the gibs dumpster with the rest of the battlefield cleanup," the Texan shrugged. "And sure, I'll miss 'em. A lot lower maintenance than these new beauties, but--" he rapped on one thigh with his fist, forcing the flesh there to split in a clean set of four lines, a rectangle of the false skin pushing out ahead of a metal strut holstering a pistol, which he drew, allowing the strut to close and the flesh to knit back together seamlessly. He twirled the pistol in one hand and grinned to the garuda. "These legs have a lot more tricks to 'em."

The doctor laughed, watching with interest as his teammate opened his leg and sheathed the pistol, letting it close back with no evidence. "A self-healing, lifelike polymer! Your work with the Australium you have commissioned is mind-boggling, Engie! Puts mein magic to shame." He ruffled his feathers to punctuate.

"Aw shucks, it's just advanced, is all. Have to wonder where the line between 'em is after a point. Different formulas, similar results," the shorter mercenary reasoned. He plucked a paper gown from a nearby table and tied it on, frowning a little at how short the thing rode on his thighs. "Good Lord, Doc, is this a medical gown or a shirt?"

"It all depends on how tight you tie it and whether there are stockings involved, mein Freund," Medic teased. "So how has Pyro been taking this? I am surprised he is not raising a fuss about your amputations. Most people seem to take such umbrage with removing functioning body parts for the purpose of scientific progress. Or experimentation. Or, you know, any reason, really."

Engineer deflated, dropping onto a chair. "Ah he ain't too keen on it at all. Doesn't like me takin' off pieces that ain't got nothin' wrong with 'em. Can't say as I blame 'im. If it ain't broke, don't fix it 'n all."

"But unless you know they are false, there isn't any difference! They look and feel the same," Medic reasoned.

"He says he knows. He knew about my hand when we got into this whole...thing, we have going, but when I showed 'im the new one, it was like a shock to 'im. Didn't much like it, and the other upgrades I have planned even less." The smaller mercenary scratched at his shaven head. "I don't know what to do. This here's my life's work! I make machines to fight. Sentries, dispensers, teleporters, all for combat! These're what I been workin' toward for decades, Doc. An' here he is, all out of sorts over parts of me he's never even touched with 'is bare hands!"

"Just because he's never touched you flesh to flesh does not mean he does not care about you and your pieces, Engie," Medic shrugged. "It baffles me how even you have never seen him, however. I have given up on trying to give him physicals, and Miss Pauling does not require them in mein medical reports, thankfully."

"He's got his reasons. Important ones, if he can't come out. It don't mean nothin' to me. We still hold each other, I can still kiss him through the suit. He's warm to the touch, even through all of that rubber. And even though he doesn't want to do anythin' more physical than that, I can get that somewhere else. Only thing matters is I love 'im to pieces. I'm just..." Engineer heaved a heavy breath. "I just don't wanna have to choose between Pyro and my life's work, Doc. And I'm feelin' more and more like he wants me to do just that."

"Have you talked to him about this?" the doctor regarded his friend coolly, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

"Well, not very much, no. We talked a little after I finished up the final arm model, but it didn't go so well. He got quiet, and upset. And didn't seem to want to talk."

"You didn't pursue it? You didn't confront him?"

"Shucks, Doc, you know how I am with talkin' about that kind of thing." Engineer ran a hand over his head again, the scratchy sound of stubble over flesh a comforting one to the stout mechanic.

"And yet you can pour your heart out to me?"

"Yeah, because I know you ain't gonna judge me."

"Who is to say I am not judging you?"

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"All I am saying is that I am not the one who should be hearing these things. All that telling me is going to accomplish is to allow me to tell you you are being an arsch, and both you and Pyro need to grow up and stop acting like children. How are you to have a relationship if you never talk to your lover?"

"Is that why you told Heavy before trying to summon a garuda in here and turning yourself into a birdman?"

"...get out of my surgery." Medic pointed to the door, his lips quirking into a smirk. The asshole had caught him dead to rights. "Heavy thinks the wings are attractive, so it worked out," he quickly added.

Engineer whooped a laugh and stood. "Alright, alright, Doc. But all the same, much obliged for your help. Surgical and otherwise."

"It is nothing, mein Freund. Now go, show off your fine new legs. Perhaps buy some heels. Make a day of it."

The shorter man shook his head and made his way out of the surgery. He needed a shower and lunch, and some time to think of how to really talk to Pyro about all of this. He wanted to be sure he had the words right before letting them leave his mouth. Pyro deserved him at his best. Looking down at his too-short paper gown, he briefly pondered visiting Scout to help clear his head. But those antlers... No. He couldn't.

 

*

 

Pyro looked up at Spy from the plush chair in which he sat. The rogue was pacing, thinking, swirling the obscenely expensive scotch he held in a crystal glass in one gloved hand as he strode over the soft, plush carpet of his smoking room. A pair of freezer-chilled stones clinked about in the glass, making the crystal sing with soft ringing as they collided and shifted, sloshing about in the warm, honey tones of the single-malt liquor. The rogue moved with purpose, with careful, fluid movements, every aspect of his manner absorbed in his thoughts.

"It is simple," he finally spoke, after leaving the firebug on tenterhooks after explaining his predicament.

Pyro perked up with a squeak of rubber.

"When next he is in need of satisfaction, since he is no longer patronizing Scout's services, send him to me," Spy recommended with a smirk.

"You...want to have sex with Engie? And this is going to help me?"

"Yes, and yes. I have a plan to make him confront his own comfort level, as well as lead him in the perfect direction for you to meet him. He will be ready to hear what you have to say, to see what you have to show him. That aside, Scout had told me about a certain...skill of the labourer's that I would be remiss if I didn't admit I wanted a sample of."

"You're talking about how good he is at rimming, aren't you?" Pyro asked. "Because Scout won't shut up about that if you let him."

"I am. It is shameless, but he's piqued my interest. I am quite enamoured by matters oral in the bedroom" Spy admitted with a chuckle and sip of his scotch. "It will also be entertaining to see how much stamina those new legs have."

"Spy."

"If he is to accept you, you must accept him, mon hotaru," the rogue smirked, mincing languages with a soft laugh. "He has been working in prosthetic machines of war since long before you entered into his life. His glamour lies in the modification of the mundane. An admirable endeavour, in my mind."

Pyro sagged. Spy was right, infuriatingly so.

"Besides, it is not like magic cannot, at least temporarily, restore what has been lost, if give and take is what needs to be done. Or even enhance what it caresses." Spy took a sip from his glass again, then thought a moment. "But I am a terrible host. Would you like a scotch? I can fetch a straw."


End file.
